


Just Like It Never Was

by skund



Category: DCU - Comicverse
Genre: Angst, M/M, absolute power
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-09-01
Updated: 2010-09-01
Packaged: 2017-10-11 09:55:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,051
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/111141
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skund/pseuds/skund
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clark is suffering from disturbing dreams, and wonders if he's going mad. Superman/Batman Absolute Power arc. Spoilers for Superman/Batman #14-18.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Corruption

_His blood sung in his ears, and he ached. Ached and burned and wept and raged. Be brutal, his Father had said. Swift and brutal. He would honour his father. And his brother. He'd left his brother up there, in the Watchtower perched on the cold, dead Moon. His brother, just as cold. Broken and still. Forever. Bruce had used to whisper that very word into his ear, hands clutching, as Clark moved in him. Sweat slick and panting, tangled in the sheets. His lover (_brother_), always cool against his sunfired skin, now always cold, like their bed and the Watchtower and the pain in his heart._

He'd give her that pain, the whore that had taken his brother (lover_). He found her, pathetic, useless thing. He didn't even slow down from his supersonic flight, using his speed to pummel her into the Earth, shards of rock flying about them. Settling in the long tresses of her ebony hair. She whimpered under the rain of his fists, “Kal, Kal... Kal.” Pointless, weak noises. He didn't listen, except to the crunch of bone with each blow. She kept her clear blue eyes trained on his own, and he watched them cloud red and loose their focus. When she lay breathless at his feet, he reached down and tore the glittering golden rope from her waist. His pain, smothered in the rhythm of his fists, surged forward against his ribs, and against his will his mouth opened to release a sob. He wasn't trained for this, this war of passion and rage. He'd been trained as a soldier to bring about order, swift and clean. Obey or die. He didn't negotiate or banter. He dealt out justice. But this... this hurt. He twisted the rope tight around his fists and heard his own voice, shaking and broken. Cold._

“You took him from me. My brother... my family... my life.”

He would not honour his father. This would not be swift. He kicked her in the stomach, made her gasp for air. Wound the rope around her neck, once. Twice. And pulled. With all his strength and rage and the cold, cold, cold ache in his heart. He felt the rope bite flesh, then grind against bone. The whore gurgled wetly, pulled up onto her knees before him – and so she should be. Even now, she was trying to meet his eyes. He closed his eyes, denied her. He felt her scrabbling at him, fists in his cape. Tighter. Frantic. Then gone. Her hand fell from his cape. He released the rope. Stepped back. She lay sprawled at his feet, still.

The cold in his heart was still there. Always would be. He could kill a hundred, a thousand more, and that ache would remain. He fell to his knees beside the body and roared. “BRUCE!”

  
The harsh yell grated in his throat, waking him. Clark was soaked in sweat, the damp sheets clinging to his skin, blood singing in his ears. His breathing was fast and hard, and he could almost feel the slide of rope through his fists. He closed his eyes. Not again. He let himself collapse onto the bed. Another night lost to those godawful dreams. Horrible, broken scenes of blood and hate and rage. Death. He'd dreamed Diana's death before. Bruce's. Ollie's. His own. Again and again, sleep shattered by their final cries. Clark had no idea why he was suddenly afflicted with this visions, but they were slowly driving him mad, he knew it. And Bruce... God, where did that come from? Some nights it was just Bruce and him, the two of them. And there was sweat and yelling and... Clark blushed, even in the solitude of his own bedroom. He curled over onto his side, clutching the pillow. The other half of his bed was still, and cold. Empty. A shadow of pain crossed his heart, but only for a moment. Exhaustion overwhelmed Clark, and he slipped into a restless sleep.

\--

The dawn came all to soon, and Clark arose feeling like he's never slept. He spilt his morning coffee, left his USB drive at home and was late for work. Lois winced at him as he finally made it to his desk.

“Wow, Smallville. You look like death warmed over. Again.”

Clark rolled her eyes at her. “Thanks.”

“No, seriously.” She sat down in her chair, facing him over their abutting desks. “You've been looking horrible for weeks now. Something up?”

He sighed heavily, and rubbed the bridge of his nose under his heavy glasses – a habit he'd observed and practiced so often it was now second nature. “No. Yes. I don't know...” His blue eyes were watery and bloodshot. “I just, can't sleep. Bad dreams.”

Lois frowned, tucking hair behind her ear. “Anything you want to share?”

Clark shot her a look, surprised by her uncharacteristic offer, and she raised her hands in mock surrender. “Just offering, as a friend.”

He closed his eyes and offered a weak smile. “I know. I'm sorry. I... need coffee.” He stood up, swiped his cup from his desk and disappeared through the throng of staff to the tearoom.

\--

Patrol was slow that night, the minutes slipping by like freight trains. Superman was sitting on top of the Daily Planet, just listening to his city live around him. Metropolis was unusually quiet, there was nothing going down that the local law enforcement couldn't handle. On such a night six months ago Clark would have called it quits hours ago. Gone home to catch up on some writing, maybe relax in front of the TV or have an early night for once. His little apartment had never been exactly homey, but it had always suited him well enough. Until now. When he went home these days, it was too quiet. Lonely, for some reason. He couldn't bear the stillness. And he dreaded the sight of the bedroom; the notion of sleep and going back to those dreams. He shuddered at the memories he'd never lived, of blood and pain and loss, that played through his head each night. No, he couldn't go back to that, not yet.

He sighed, ran a hand through his hair. Half-smiled at the thought of what his Ma would think, him out here sitting of a rooftop brooding in the night. Like a certain masked vigilante. He sighed again and slowly took to the sky, cape fluttering around him. Most of this waking thoughts seem to end up containing the same man. It was getting distracting. He'd always respected Batman, worked well with him as a team and hell, on some occasions, even enjoyed the grumpy bastard's company. Alright, so maybe he enjoyed being around Bruce a little more than occasionally. And maybe he more than enjoyed his presence. But they were professionals. Clark wasn't willing to jeopardise their working relationship for the vague hope of something more. And besides, Bruce certainly wasn't... you know. Interested. Clark only needed to open the social pages of the paper to see that. But ever since these dreams started there'd been Bruce too. Images and memories and feelings, of them together through his whole life. His _whole_ life, right from when they were kids. Just hanging out together, training, fighting. Bickering. It was so comfortable, which was a word he'd never associated with Bruce before, and so... insane. If the violent dreams alone weren't enough to tell him he was going mad, this imaginary life with Bruce certainly was. This imaginary lover, who was also his brother, and how wrong was that?

Clark had been flying aimlessly, lost in his own thoughts, but he stopped now and looked around him. And damn his thoughts, they'd brought him here. Gotham. He hovered for a moment, indecisive, then turned to face back the way he came. He was just about to head for home when a dark, gravelly voice in his ear caught him over the commlink.

“Something wrong, Superman?”

Yes, something's wrong. You never knew it was me that melted your favourite watch when you were nine, because you threw my model rocket out an airlock. But you wouldn't remember all that because it all happened in my head.

“No,” Clark lied, “nothing's up. Just a social call.” He tried to sound upbeat, but even he could tell he failed. The Bat certainly noticed.

“Come to the cave.”

“That's alright, I was just passing thr-”

“Now, Superman.” The connection went dead.

A few minutes later Clark was touching down on the cool, stone floor, the walls around him alight with machinery and some of the world's best computer mainframes. Bruce was sitting at the monitor bank, cowl down but busy working. He barely even glanced up as Clark landed. Clark briefly pondered just leaving again, but it'd been a few days since he'd seen Bruce and he just wanted to see him for a - damn, he was pathetic. He waited silently, watching the way Bruce's hands danced over the keyboard. Bruce had very precise hands. He could dismantle a bomb in minutes, weld microcircuitry perfectly, _and knew just how to touch his cock to make him..._ Clark closed his eyes against the sudden intrusion of his dream world. But then again, maybe this was good. He'd hardly seen any of Bruce lately that wasn't immediately League related. This gave him a chance to practice interacting with the man while ignoring... those thoughts. Yes, he needed the practice there. Clark was practicing so hard on not giving those thoughts any heed that he didn't notice when Bruce stopped working, looked over to him. Walked over to take him by the shoulder.

“Are you OK?” Blue eyes, freed from the lenses of the cowl, met Clark's own as he was suddenly jolted back to reality.

“Yeah, sure. Just tired... you know.”

Bruce scruitinized his face carefully, then grunted and walked back the computers. “You've been quite distracted lately.”

Clark winced. Oh, that speech again. “I know. I've been busy. Working a lot.”

Bruce regarded him over his shoulder. “You're a horrible liar, Clark.”

Clark grinned despite himself. “I know.”

Bruce smirked, sat down in his chair facing him. It was an unusually open move from the Bat. Clark wandered over and perched on the edge of the computer console. Clark had a sudden image of putting his feet up on Bruce's chair, of sliding over to sit in Bruce's lap, twining fingers in his hair. Ok, so maybe moving closer wasn't a good idea.

“Are you OK?” Bruce repeated.

Clark shrugged. No, I'm dreaming things that never happened and watching myself kill my closest friends. I'm insane, but if I tell you I'm insane you'll whip out some Kryptonite and that would really hurt because I love you. Oh God, I'm so far gone Arkham's too good for me. “It's... personal.”

Bruce looked up at him, the light of the screens illuminating his face, throwing highlights in his dark hair. Clark wanted to run his fingers through that hair so bad he could taste it.

“If you want to talk-”

Clark opened his mouth.

“-I'm sure Diana or J'onn would be happy to listen. We can't have team dynamics undermined.”

Oh. Right. Of course, Batman doesn't do mushy feelings stuff. Clark nodded. “Yeah. Thanks.” He hopped off the console, stretching. “Well, I'd better get off home.” And he left, not even giving Bruce time to reply. Of course the man wasn't interested in his problems, to Batman he was just a tool to be used in battle. They'd almost seemed like friends for a while, but lately Bruce had barely given him the time of day. And here Clark was, pining for the snarky moron. Pathetic. By the time Clark made it back to his apartment he was frustrated beyond words. He wandered around the darkened rooms for a while, before finally giving in and submitting to sleep. The dreams didn't take long.

\---

_He was enraged. He could feel it, vibrating through every fibre of muscle in his body. Skittering down nerves and sinew, chased by pain. Bright pain, chattering pain. Green, crystalline pain. His chest was on fire, shards of heat searing his skin. He lay, gasping. There was a fight nearby, the sound of breaking bone and impacts on flesh. Someone was bellowing, voice broken and coarse._

“Get up.”

Clark stirred.

“Get up!” Bruce barked again.

Clark obeyed. But Bruce was talking to the green figure sprawled at his feet, blond hair stark against the filth of the alley. Too dirty to be Metropolis, too clean to be Gotham. A reek of fish and engine oil in the air; Star City. Closer air held the rich stench of blood and sweat from the two men before him. The vigilante was down, crimson staining his green tunic, his bow in pieces. Clark almost smiled at the sight. His brother did good work. But the green-clad scum wasn't out yet. He rolled up, grabbing an arrow from his quiver. Bruce was faster, better, swinging into a high kick that connected perfectly, sending the scum's teeth flying. Their porcelain chitter against the ground lost in the roar of combat. Clark still heard. He smirked, then turned his eyes onto the bleeding man, channeling heat. Total heat. The man ignited instantly, illuminating the whole alley. He didn't even manage a scream, the superheated air blistering his throat as he tried. Superman stopped two heatbeats later. What remained of the charred skeleton fell gently to the ground.

“Obey or die.” Clark intoned. It felt right, true. He looked to his brother, half shadows against the wall. Bruce was hurt, blood running down his Kevlar breastplate. Clark swept towards him, hands reaching. Feeling that slickness, down Bruce's chest. His brother was breathing heavily. Clark stepped closer, arms going around Bruce's waist. His brother (lover) pressed against him in return, tilting his head up. It felt good to have this warm, wetness in his arms. Felt right. He angled his face for a kiss, seeking parted lips. At the last second Bruce turned, instead biting Clark's jaw, rolling flesh between his teeth. Perfect. Clark let out a sigh, feeling the burn of his wounded chest. They bleed freely, chest to chest sharing the warmth and the coppery tang and everything of them. His brotherloverwarrior was everything. Clark pushed him back against the wall, hands going lower. Needing. Yes. Bruce wrapped a leg around his own, mouth coming back to play with his lips, parting to allow him access to more wet, slick warmth. Clark captured those lips, drawing him-

  
The JLA alarm call shattered the warmth, bringing Clark back to his own room and his own bed. He lay motionless, incapable of making sense of the contrasting sensations running through his body. Then reality snapped back with a sting, and he was up and dressing in the suit, listening to the chatter of the battle, almost started without him. And then he was away, faster than a speeding bullet.

\--

The battle swarmed. Superman hovered above it all, just watching. His team mates were everywhere; leaping, fighting, retreating. But Clark felt withdrawn. His muscles already ached from battles waged only in his head, his mind stumbling. So he hovered, motionless, above it all. He could hear them all, through the earpiece. Talking, yelling. Heard his own name often. But he couldn't respond. An explosion below, the heat washing over his face. More chatter over the radio. Then, a voice he could not ignore.

“Superman, get down here. Now.” Batman growled, the snarl cutting through all other noise. Clark turned in midair, locating his position.

“Do you hear me? Now!”

Clark descended into the fray, approaching Batman. He was pressed against a wall, looking around the corner observing the main fight, cape fluttering. Clark felt something turn in his chest. Then, green in the corner of his vision. A tuniced form approaching his friend (_brother_) from behind, Batman still concentrating on the battle. Clark smirked, and sped forward. _The smug bastard wouldn't get the advantage of them again._ Something in him railed at that thought. Wept and screamed at the idea, but that part was getting quieter now. Weaker.

Clark killed most of his speed, but left enough to send both himself and the archer crashing into the wall when he grabbed him. The vigilante's head cracked sharply off the bricks, leaving him dazed and pliant in Clark's grasp. _Clark fixed one solid hand around his throat, felt the fragile flutter beneath his palm. He squeezed slightly and heard the archer gasp involuntarily. Warmth spread through him. Yes, this one would not bother his brother and himself again. The vigilante opened his eyes, wide in shock, and hands came up to scrabble at Clark's own._ “Cl..Clark.” He spluttered. Clark stilled. Frowned. That wasn't right. A heavy gauntleted hand landed on his shoulder. Clark turned, confusion across his face. His friendlover was behind him, and for half a second he started to smile. Then his brother's other fist, startlingly green in the late afternoon sun, connected with his face. It hurt. Clark felt his stomach turn even as the pain of the impact hit him, the Kryptonite ring gouging his cheek. His knees went weak, and he fell to kneel at his partner_brother_'s feet. Above him, Bruce grabbed the archer by the shoulder, holding him up.

“Breathe, Ollie.” The archer spluttered, reaching out to lean against Batman's arm. Clark blinked. He couldn't understand. This wasn't right at all.

“Jesus Clark, what's gotten into you?” The vigilante coughed, leaning against his brother, his _brotherloverwarrior_ and nothing seemed to make sense. Bruce still wore the Kryptonite, sending waves of pain through Clark's head, and stomach. His heart. He opened his mouth to ask Bruce what was going on, when a pair of red boots landed in front of him.

“What is going on here?” Diana. He reached out to her, trusting her. She looked after him, the sister he never had and _her eyes rolled back in her head as he pulled on the rope biting into her neck._ He blinked. No, that wasn't right. Was it? He looked up at her, resplendent in her armor. This was real. Wasn't it? He couldn't tell. He saw friends and foes and friends as foe; Diana standing above him, hands on hips and concern in her eyes, _and Diana falling to the ground, bloodied and broken at his feet. Ollie launching himself at Clark, hate in his eyes,_ and chatting together in the Watchtower cafeteria, laughing. And Bruce. Bruce, aloof and cold and commanding and strong _and warm and open and beneath him, moaning..._ Clark wrapped his arms around his stomach, nausea from more than just the alien rock, and leaned forward to rest his forehead on the cool ground. They all talked around him, voices terse and frantic, but he couldn't listen. Couldn't focus. Nothing was right. He barely felt the transporter beam that whisked them all away to the Watchtower (which was in orbit, not on the Moon. _Why wasn't it on the Moon?_), cutting off the roar of the battle still waging nearby. He barely felt even Bruce's guiding hand on his shoulder, the ring thankfully removed, as they walked to sick bay. He sat on the bed, and no time seemed to pass at all. But when he next blinked the room was dark, as was the planet below him. His hands were folded in his lap, but he didn't dare look down at them. In case they were red. Blood stained. He wasn't sure if they would be. If they should be. He couldn't gain anything from the rush of images, and dreams and memories in his mind.

Two glittering red stars appeared in the darkness. Clark turned, watching passively. The twin lights resolved into a familiar shape, and suddenly Clark was blinking back tears. “J'onn, something's wrong.” he croaked.

The Martian nodded, reaching out to place a hand against his chest. He knew, he could see the turmoil in Clark's mind, and he knew. “I will help, Kal-El.”

Clark certainly hoped he could.


	2. Revelation

The post-battle debriefing was not going well. Wonder Woman stood at the head of the table, hands on hips and conspicuously alone. Clark was still confined to the sickbay, and Batman had slipped away in the chaos that followed their arrival. All eyes seemed to be drawn to the Amazon, but she was at a loss. The battle had ended shortly after the Trinity's departure, with no casualties and the villain escaping off into the sunset, as usual. The breakdown of her team troubled her greatly though, as it did the rest of the League. Ollie was sitting quietly, nursing an icepack and a stiff drink. John and Shayera seemed withdrawn, and even Wally had lost his usual exuberance. 

The room had fallen quiet after the main points of the battle and Clark's current condition had been discussed, and Diana found herself reluctant to break the silence. Superman was clearly not in control of himself. Again. Batman clearly knew something he wasn't inclined to share. Again. How many times can the League run through these same arguments? 

Ollie rearranged the icepack on his head, drained his drink and set it down on the tabletop with a conspicuous thunk. “Well, fuck.” 

Wally laughed loudly, then clamped his hand over his mouth. 

“I don't think that's quite a helpful, Ollie.” Diana chided, but was grateful for the broken silence.

John grunted, crossing his arms. “He's got it about right though. Clark appears to be compromised again.” 

“Yes, but he's contained here now-”

“And where's Bruce gotten to? He knows something.” John frowned. 

Diana rubbed her forehead. “He's... elsewhere.” 

Ollie rolled his eyes dramatically. “Typical. He can't get anything done without being all dramatic.” 

“Well at least he might be doing something, we're just sitting here!” Shayera's wings flared, betraying her agitation. 

“J'onn is doing everything he can to help Superman.” Wonder Woman replied, hands again on her hips. “We can do nothing until they are done.” 

  
\----

  
Clark shivered in the darkened room, J'onn's hands cupping his face. They were seated facing each other on the floor of the sickbay, the thrum of the Watchtower against their skin. J'onn was concentrating hard, eyes closed, probing the depths of Clark's shattered mind. He was trying to be gentle, but Clark kept twitching and jumping as memories he'd never known surfaced and then bled away again.

J'onn tried not to flinch in unison, as Clark's confusion and horror kept striking him like waves against a breakwater. He was trying to segregate these false memories, confine them to a small part of Clark's mind, but even the most violent and disturbing images rang true, like they were real memories and not something implanted or magicked into existence as he had believed they were. But some were clearly false; deaths and battles that J'onn knew had never occurred. He took those images and locked them away, deep beneath the subconscious. At first J'onn had thought Clark was under attack from enemies powerful and unknown, but he was starting to consider otherwise. Could Clark really have lived an alternate life? Certainly stranger things have happened to the League. 

The telepath pushed deeper into the tumble of sights and sounds. He felt confident that there must be a key to unlocking this other personality, but it eluded him. Clark had seemed eager for this help, but he was holding on to something, memories and feelings he was not prepared to loose. J'onn reached for them but Clark mentally pushed him away. Certain that these memories would lead him to the key, J'onn tried to capture them again. Clark fought him to his utmost, but J'onn was more experienced in this mental combat and he pushed against the barriers in Clark's mind. It took all J'onn's strength to breach them, and the moment he did he was overwhelmed - struck by a rush of passion, lust, devotion; of whispering wings, black silk and a solid, cold strength. He gasped at the onslaught, eyes flying open just in time to see a fist wrap around his throat. 

“No!” Clark roared, face distorted into a snarl. “You will not take my brother from me!” 

J'onn reached for Clark's mind even as his hands reached for the fingers crushing his neck. Clark shook him violently. 

“How dare you touch my mind, _alien_.” He threw J'onn into the nearest bulkhead, following him to unleash a rain of punches and kicks. J'onn threw a mental alarm call throughout the station, and felt half a dozen other minds instantly respond. As another fist came flying down he phased out and let himself fall through the floor into the quiet room below. He felt frustration spark blindingly in Clark, and heard him beat the walls were J'onn had been, fists slipping in the slick of J'onn's own blood. 

\--

Diana responded immediately, flying from the conference room at full speed. She felt Shayera and John behind her, and saw Flash streak ahead in a blur. Wally was already inside the sick bay when she arrived – but for just a moment. He came hurtling through the air as she almost reached the doors, colliding with herself and Shayera and bringing them all down in a tangled heap. John dodged past, ring glowing. By the time Wonder Woman made into the room John was down, sprawled at Clark's feet. 

“Where is my brother?” Clark screamed, the heel of his boot grinding against John's shoulder. “You tried to take him from me! Where is he?” 

Diana did not hesitate, flying forwards to slam bodily into Clark, bringing them both crashing to the floor. His eyes went wide when he saw her. “You!” Diana dodged the superspeed punch directed at her head, landing quick jabs to his chest, driving the air from his lungs. Clark's swing carried him forward and he stumbled, colliding with one of the sick bay beds. Wally, taking the opportunity, jumped on his back, arms clamped around his neck. John staggered up, forming a glowing green cage around the struggling forms. Diana nodded in approval and turned to bark orders, but Shayera was already at a computer console programing the Tower's transporter to function within the station itself, and within seconds Clark vanished in a stark light, appearing seconds later in the strongest of their confinement chambers.  

Wally was lying panting on the floor. “Houston, we have a problem.” 

Diana helped him to his feet, her face grim. Why was nothing easy?

\--

Batman strode from the transporter platform, barely pausing when he spotted Green Arrow and Flash waiting for him. 

“And where have you been, your highness?” Ollie quipped, the bruise on his forehead just starting to rise. “We could have done with your help about an hour ago.”

Bruce ignored him, sweeping out of the room. Wally's mask almost hid the hurt expression on his face. 

It took one minute and forty three seconds to reach the containment cells, and in that time Bruce constructed and discarded seventeen ways he could have prevented the current situation from happening. He had been soft. He knew everyone considered his behaviour lately distant and cold, but in truth he was a coward. It never should have come to this. His weakness had caused Clark an immense amount of pain, and now he'd let it all go too far. Again. 

He could hear Clark from all the way down the corridor, screaming and thrashing at the walls. Diana and J'onn was standing outside the cell; her eyes were soft when she turned to greet him. 

“I wish I knew how to help him.” she whispered. Bruce placed a gauntleted hand on her shoulder. He could feel J'onn's gaze against his back. 

“Let me go talk to him.” 

She shook her head. “No. He's too strong. Too far gone. He could kill you.” 

“Let me talk to him.” 

“I said no, Bruce, and with good cause.”

Batman was silent beneath the cowl.  

“Let him, Diana. I believe he can help. We can monitor from out here and we will not be far.” J'onn stepped forward, eyes intense. 

She looked between the two of them. Considered. “Fine. But not for long. We will keep the door open, and surveillance will keep watch.” 

Bruce nodded. Diana unlocked the door using the keypad, and Batman slipped inside the room. As soon as he was inside he removed a gadget from his tool belt and placed it against the door. It instantly swung shut and locked, sealing the room. All monitor systems in the room fell dark. His was something he had to do alone.

The silence was heavy. Bruce didn't even hear him coming. Impossibly strong hands grabbed him by his Kevlar and hurled him across the tiny cell. The armour took most of the impact, but Bruce still hissed in pain. Those hands then grabbed him again, pressed him face first roughly against the opposite wall. 

“Who are you?” Clark demanded from behind, voice hoarse. 

“You know who I am.” 

“You're not my brother. They've been trying to take him from me. Now they send him? I don't think so.”

“No, I'm not your brother.” 

Clark picked him up and slammed him against the wall again. Lights danced across Bruce's vision. He endured. “I'm not your brother, Clark.” he mumbled against the wall. 

Bruce's stomach lurched as he was flung yet again, landing solidly against the far wall. He fell badly, the crack of his right arm breaking loud in the room. He snarled soundlessly, clutching the damaged limb as Clark loomed over him as he lay on the floor. Bruce gathered the pain, condensed to a point, then ignored it. It was penance. 

“I know that. And that's why I'm going to kill you” Clark spat. 

“Clark. I need you to remember.”

Clark just sneered.

“Kal, please.” 

“Stop it.”

“Kal.” 

“Shut up! Why does everyone keep calling me that?”

“Because it's your name, Kal.” 

“It is not!” Clark emphasised his statement with a sharp kick to Bruce's stomach, causing him to curl into a ball. He spat blood. This was going to be harder than he thought. 

“Your name is Kal-El. Your birth parents are Jor-El and Lara Lor-Van. You were sent here as a baby when your planet was destroyed. You were found by Jonathan and Martha Kent, who raised you as their own.” Bruce regarded Clark from behind the lenses of his mask. The Kryptonian's normally blue eyes were blazing red, his face twisted into a snarl.

“This is a trick! You and that wench outside, you're trying to trick me. But you won't get the better of me.” 

“It's not a trick-” 

“I can see what you're doing!” 

“Kal, please.” 

“Enough! Your games will not work! I will kill you like I killed her.” 

Ah. A plan suddenly unfolded in Bruce's mind. Clark picked Batman up by the top of his Kevlar chestplate. Bruce did not resist, but used his free hand to activate the clasp on his cowl, letting it slip from his head. For the first time in a long time he looked Clark directly in the eyes. Their gaze held. Bruce saw fury and frustration seething in the other man's eyes. “You killed her?” he managed to rasp, blood tainting his lip. 

“I did.” Clark sneered. “I wrapped that silly rope around her neck and choked her.” 

“But she's right outside.” 

“I know that! She threw me in here.” Clark spat, but faltered as soon as his heard the words on his own lips. 

Batman held the silence for as long as he dared. “Why did you kill her?” 

Clark did not reply, instead looking away for the first time. For the first time unsure. Bruce knew exactly how he felt. Like he was an iceberg being slowly chipped away. All these little pieces falling away until suddenly a tipping point is reached, and one more piece lost causes the whole 'berg to roll over. Submerging what was known, and revealing deeper truths. Silence. Bruce closed his eyes briefly against the pain, sucked in a breath. He could see a way though this now. “I know.” 

“Do you now?” Clark mocked, his grip on the Kevlar tightening. He was unsure of himself, falling back on bravado. 

“You killed her in retribution. Because she killed me.” 

Clark froze. 

“She ran her blade through my heart, Kal. I died.” 

Their breathing was loud in the small room, staring transfixed at each other. Clark raised his arm; Bruce tried to hide his flinch as a hand landed on his jaw. But the touch was soft. Tender. Clark's eyes were boring into his own, but he made no sound. A thousand different expressions kept flitting across his face. A thousand different pieces falling into place. 

“I'm sorry.” Bruce gasped. “I left you alone. I couldn't deal with this, so I ignored it. I ignored you. Didn't see how the pain was eating at you. I never should have let it get this far. I'm a coward and a fool. I'm sorry.”  

“I... I don't... Oh, God. Bruce.” The hand on Bruce's cheek slid around to the back of his neck, cradling his head. Clark then collapsed to his knees, pulling Bruce down on top of him. It was awkward for a moment, but they ended up with Clark kneeling and Bruce sprawled in his lap.   
   
“I remember.” The words were soft, almost whispered against Bruce's lips. “All of it. The killings. The deaths. Our deaths. It's all so real.” 

“I was real, Kal. We lived it, as brothers. It's gone now, but we lived it.” Exhausted, Bruce let his head fall forward onto Clark's shoulder, felt the other man's lips play with the small hairs on the back of his neck. The wall he'd been carefully crafting between them for months, since this all started, slipped away and he sighed at the loss of its weight. It was like shedding a winter coat, or dropping a heavy weight. Removing a mask. 

Clark's hand ran down his shoulder, along the top of Bruce's broken arm. Clark could feel how Bruce suddenly tensed in his lap, their bodies in intimate contact. He slowly moved his hands to Bruce's gauntlets, removing the spurred cuffs and then the soft leather gloves. His fingers traced gentle patterns on Bruce's right hand, checking the pulse. 

“I'm sorry.” Clark whispered. 

Bruce shifted his head slightly, placing lips against the base of Clark's neck. “Don't.” 

“I'm sorry.” he repeated. “I keep breaking you.” He cradled the broken limb. Could see the break in the bones. Shuddered. 

“You don't.” 

“I do. I'm sorry, Bruce.” Clark's voice broke, almost sobbing. “I'm so sorry. You were so happy and so alive, and I had to break you.” 

Bruce frowned against the heat of Clark's skin. 

“When you... When we went back to fix things you stopped your parent's murder. They were alive and you were so happy with them. I should have left you there - just turned around and walked away. No one would have known. But I couldn't. I couldn't quit you, Bruce. I had to have you with me, even if it meant destroying everything that made you happy. I had no right.”

“You did the right thing, Clark. The necessary thing. I don't blame you.” 

“You should.”

“I can't. It wasn't you. Yes, you took me to the Alley, made me remember that night. Gave me the memory and the suit of the Bat. But I didn't feel it. Batman, all that passion and rage, he wasn't there. Not until I saw Ra's Kryptonite sword pierce your chest. I... broke then. Not before. God, Clark. I can't do this.” 

Bruce's other hand wrapped tightly around Clark, hand fisting in the loose fabric of his cape. Clark held Bruce closer, as if he could crawl within his skin. 

“I can't do this. I have no control when it comes to you, Clark. You're my brother.” Bruce's voice cracked. “My brother, I love you. And I can't do this.” He lifted his head from the sanctuary of Clark's shoulder, looking face to face. Clark rested their foreheads together. 

“It's okay.” 

“No, it's not. You don't get it, do you?” Bruce took a shuddering breath. “Do you remember how many we killed, for the sake of each other? You were my world. I'd do anything for you.Clark, I'd break the world for you.” He paused, breathing heavily. “I can't be that person. And I can't let you be that person either. This, what we have between us, it doesn't work in this world.” 

“But-” 

“No, Clark. No.” Bruce shifted in his arms. This truth had been wearing away at him for weeks, but he'd resisted coming to this moment with every ounce of power he had. But here he was. “I should have done this earlier. I'm sorry.” He made to pull away, but Clark tightened his grip, holding Bruce to him. 

“No, you don't get off that easy. We'll make it work.”

Bruce turned his head away, glared at him from the corner of his eye. 

Clark pulled him close to him again, inhaling the soft tang of Kevlar, sweat and blood that was Bruce. “Please don't go.” Bruce relaxed into the embrace, left arm looped loosely around Clark's shoulder and right held protectively against his chest as he sat in Clark's lap. 

Bruce said nothing more. 

Neither did Clark. 

When the rest of the Justice League finally breached the doors an hour later, they found them just like that.


	3. Never

Clark awoke from a restful sleep for the first time in months. Even the ominous combination of monitor beeps, hard bed and antiseptic that equated to sick bay couldn't destroy his feeling of contentment. He rolled his shoulders, feeling abused muscles stretch, and decided to stay exactly where he was. The room was dark and quiet, and he'd almost drifted back off to sleep when the doors opened and admitted an argument.

“If you _ever_ do anything so foolhardy again, Hera help me, I will _throttle_ you!”

“I did what was necessary.”

“You did exactly what you wanted to do, as usual! We are a team Bruce.”

“You couldn't help.”

“I could have tried, if you had just told us what was going on.”

“Diana.” Clark called sleepily. The Amazon paused, hands on hips. She smiled when she saw Superman awake and walked over to his bed.

“I am glad to see you're recovered, Kal.”

Clark smiled up at her. A black shadow loomed around the bed which Wonder Woman ignored.

“I'm afraid there's some things we must discuss before you can return to active duty.”

“Of course,” Clark nodded, “things are... different.” Diana smiled faintly but it did not reach her eyes. Clark felt is own smile fade. Things _were_ different. His head was still awash with images and feelings, but he could separate them now. The memories from his own lifetime resonated true in his mind, while those from other worlds were somehow diminished. Like scenes recalled from a movie or book. He knew now that he had never harmed Diana and he never would; she was the sister he'd never had. But he still... felt. The satisfaction he had reveled in at her murder. The confusion and rage. These things were less easily shed, deeper than merely memory. Emotions were true throughout the multiverse, it was the situations which brought them about that changed. He loved Diana, and he'd enjoyed killing her, and Clark knew it would be a long time before he could truly reconcile those emotions. Diana, who beholds all truths, saw this in his eyes. She brushed the backs of her fingers against his cheek, then cupped his face in both hands and kissed his forehead. Absolution.

Batman loomed closer, cape trailing around Diana's boots. She glared at him then turned back to Clark. “Rest. When you wish to talk, you need only find me.”

Clark thanked her warmly. Diana nodded and left the room, didn't look back. The door shut behind her and the room to returned to stillness.

“They know.” Batman's rasp was loud in the darkened room.

“How?”

“J'onn.”

“Oh. Yeah. That's my fault, I guess.”

Batman was silent.

“Come here.” Clark reached for him but Bruce pulled away and melted back into the shadows. Clark watched him, unhindered by the darkness. He had his cape hanging long over his shoulders. Concealing. He was turned away from Clark, almost with his back to him, his profile weak in the dim light. Clark sighed. Oh, Bruce. Clark remembered everything about him. From the young boy who used to slip into Clark's nursery at night to tell him stories, to the serious youth who'd smirked triumphantly when he bested Clark at _everything_ – and a few short years later struggled till he was exhausted just to keep up with him. And then later, the young man who held everyone at arm's length. Who snarked and spat and bullied in public, but who came to Clark under the moonlight warm and open and falling apart under Clark's too warm hands. Clark remembered every touch, every kiss against his neck, every time he felt nails dig into his back and wished that for just one moment he could bleed, just for Bruce. He _felt_ it. All of it, all those nights and years of Bruce, and Clark couldn't conceive of just ignoring it all away. He wouldn't. But Bruce...

The Bat was constantly moving, cape barely whispering against the floor as he paced. “They don't trust us. They think we're compromised.”

“You're being paranoid, Bruce.”

“They're not going to let us lead the League anymore.”

“They? 'They' are our friends you're talking about. Good people, who aren't just gonna throw us out on our tails.”

Bruce glared at him through the cowl's lenses. Clark sat up, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. “Please, come here.”

Batman paused his pacing for a moment, regarding him, then turned and continued moving. Clark rubbed his forehead with one hand. A different tactic was needed. “How's your arm?”

“Fine.”

Clark winced. Before he could reply the infirmary doors opened again and a blur of crimson and yellow blitzed in. “Heya, Big Blue! I head you were up and about-”

Batman snarled and strode towards the door, cape sweeping behind him. Clark watched him leave. Wally was frozen to the spot. “Uh. Sorry man, I didn't mean to interrupt.”

Clark shook his head. “Don't worry about it Wally. Bruce is just... Bruce.”

The speedster looked unsure. Clark offered a small smile. “I heard you guys had quite a fight earlier, wanna tell me about it?”

Wally grinned and launched into a rendition of the battle Clark had missed, complete with reenactments. Clark listened and nodded and laughed, but his mind was elsewhere. Fragments of the conversation earlier in the holding cell were filtering back into his mind. Suddenly, Clark didn't feel so relaxed.

\---

The atmosphere in the Hall of Justice was tense; raised voices filled the normally peaceful room.

“We can't trust either of them now, they're unknown factors.” John stated, standing arms braced against the round table.

Shayera nodded. “How many more secrets have they kept from us?”

J'onn spoke up from where he sat quietly. “There are no more secrets.”

“Well that's nice to know. Although alternative lifetimes complete with closet_ boyfriends_ are pretty high on the 'big secrets' list.” Ollie snarked.

Diana held her hands out beseechingly. “We're hear to discuss the future, not the past.”

“Yeah, well getting my brains smashed in by Big Blue yesterday isn't exactly ancient history.”

“We need to know how long this has been going on, Diana.” John added. “When two of a team are involved, it can severely effect how the group functions.”

“Exactly. When Batman almost drowned in our last little tiff with Namor and his boys, who dropped everything to go save him, huh? Superman.”

“That was six months ago, Ollie.” Shayera countered.

“All I'm sayin' is, how far does this go back? What exactly is Clark prepared to sacrifice to go running when Bruce is in trouble? The battle? The mission? One of us?”

“Enough. Kal has risked his life, and more, to save all of us over the years.” Diana said. Oliver just crossed his arms.

“What I want to know is why Bruce didn't go dark side on us too.” Wally piped up from his seat at the table.

J'onn nodded. “Bruce has far more experience with compartmentalising emotions and experience. He could, subconsciously or otherwise, block this former life with no ill effect.”

“Great, so the Bat's even more psycho then we thought.” Ollie muttered.

“And where is he again? He'd been avoiding everyone since this whole thing started.” John asked.

Diana sighed. “He's taken leave from the League.”

“For how long?”

“Indefinitely.”

“Great, that's just what we need. And what about Superman?”

“He is recovering in the infirmary. I have suggested we... talk before he returns to duty.”

“Well that's just perfect.” Ollie drawled, “There's no way I'm working with him without the Bat around.”

“What? You were just complaining that they were together!” Wally yelled.

“Yeah, but Bruce is clearly the only one who can control Kal right now.”

“I don't foresee any further problems with Clark's behaviour.” added J'onn.

John scoffed. “Well that's comforting, considering how well we saw yesterday's outburst coming.”

Diana rubbed her forehead as the argument flowed on around her.

The scene faded to black as Batman cut the feed from the Watchtower's surveillance and meticulously exited the secured system, making sure to leave an entry point for future use. The cave was silent around him save for the rustling of bat wings high above. He closed his eyes and removed the cowl, running a gloved hand through his hair. Everything he'd so meticulously constructed over the years had fallen down within a day, all because of Clark. And it wasn't his fault; it was Bruce's. He'd been selfish. First ignoring Clark when these memories first surfaced, then yesterday... Yesterday he'd wanted to hold Clark so much, to just be there and be his, wrapped in those arms. He'd given in; for once in his life he'd given in and it had all gone to hell. He should know better by now.

He remembered that other life in exquisite detail, had committed it to memory. The subjugation he and his 'family' had inflicted on the world, the self-righteous condemnation. They'd used their powers and technology to control the world – Bruce became everything he had struggled against his whole life. He remembered battles and wars and sweaty, blood slick alleyways and Clark. Always Clark, fighting beside him, watching his back. He'd relied on him, depended on him to be there, to use his powers to save them if things went bad. He can't have that weakness here, in the real world. He can't need Clark here. He gave in yesterday, one moment of weakness, and that had ended spectacularly. Clark didn't seem to understand, but he never did with these things. Of course the League would doubt them now, after Clark's attack on Ollie and the subsequent revelation of their alternate lives. Bruce had been proud of their trust in him, a group of superpowered metas and aliens relying on his judgment, his tactics. But Clark _needed_ the League. No one that powerful should go unchecked or unwatched. Bruce hoped his departure from the League would help them regain their trust in Clark, let him use that god awful farmboy charm everyone gets so dazzled by. Bruce had his cave and his city, and that is all he needed.

Batman returned to his work, silently working away at the computer as he whittled through the backlog of minor incidents that had built up over the last day, hampered slightly by the fibreglass cast on his broken arm. He'd almost finished the list when the air in the cave changed subtly. The bats high above startled and flapped around wildly, not one colliding with the bright red and blue figure descending from above. Bruce ignored it the commotion entirely.

Clark landed silently and walked over to Bruce's chair, placed large hands on both his shoulders. “What are you doing, B?” he asked sadly.

“Working.” Batman replied tersely.

“That's not what I meant.”

“I know what you meant.”

Clark sighed, ran a hand from one shoulder along the ridge of Bruce's collar bone, just slipping under the Kevlar breastplate. Bruce ignored him, continued filing, checking, cross referencing. The silence dragged.

“Y'know, I don't get you at all. I never did, but these last few days have been downright impossible.”

Bruce halted his typing, but didn't remove his eyes from the screen.

“What do you want, Bruce?”

I want you. I want to not want you. I want things to be fine again, just as they were before. But that was impossible. Batman had thought he knew his life, understood what drove it, but then realised he'd never truly known devotion or loneliness until he'd woken up in his empty bed one afternoon with thirty extra years in his mind and the taste of sunlight on his tongue. Bruce refused to let any of those words slip past his lips.

Clark wrapped both of his solid arms around Bruce's neck, leaning down to rest his cheek against Bruce's temple. The embrace should have felt restricting and dominating to Bruce. It didn't. He ignored it nonetheless.

“Seriously. This morning you were snapping and snarling when anyone got near me, then you take off without a word. Yesterday you, well..., I thought we worked things out. You said-”

“I meant what I said yesterday.”

“Which part?”

“All of it.”

“... You love me?” The question was so soft and hesitant it almost broke Bruce's heart. He turned his head, leaning towards Clark. Clark's eyes were so _blue_, like flowers from a remote Himalayan peak. No, like blue roses fresh out of laboratory and twenty thousand yen each. Nothing natural is that blue. Bruce paused, considering. Say 'no' and Clark might leave. Maybe forever, and leave Bruce alone to work as he wanted and not have to deal with..._ this_. But, say 'no' and Clark might leave. Maybe forever, and something inside Bruce that he refused to acknowledge quavered at the thought. Say 'yes' and... there were too many possibilities. Too many actions to predict, too many repercussions to prepare for. Batman preferred simplicity.

Clark exhaled slowly, breath ghosting against Bruce's face. “It's not a hard question, Bruce.” He pulled away, unwinding his arms from around Bruce's neck. In an instant Clark turned Bruce's chair about to face him, grabbed Bruce by the front of his suit and rammed him into the bank of consoles. A few of the monitors sparked and died on impact. Bruce struggled in Clark's grip but there was no way he could break the hold. Clark pressed close against him, pushing his thighs apart to stand between them. Batman snarled, the effect not lost by the absence of the cowl. Clark's eyes were glowing faintly red, eerie in the darkness of the cave.

Bruce went still, breathing heavily, as a resigned _deja vu_ settled upon him.

Clark froze and his eyes suddenly went wide. “Oh god...” He released his fists and stepped backwards sharply. Bruce slid down to sit on the edge of the control panel, watching him warily.

“Oh god, Bruce.”

Bruce exhaled slowly. The monitors behind him were flickering and sparking.

“I'm so sorry. Please, forgive me I...”

“Clark, stop.”

“No, please, Bruce. Please...”

One of the monitors behind Bruce's head started beeping incessantly. He glanced up at it. Trouble, in the sewers. Now. Of course there was. Bruce felt a spark of fire in his chest and without thought he roared and threw his gauntleted fist through the screen, causing another shower of sparks. He violently grabbed his cowl from the console. “You, stay here.” he pointed a finger at Clark. “Don't move, don't touch, just stay. I'll be back.” With that he stormed towards the Batmobile and sped away.

\---

The sewers of Gotham were filthy, rank and claustrophobic. Batman had to bend over slightly to move freely as he followed the scanner in his hands. His quarry was not far ahead. He smelled him almost before he saw him, a stench imbued from a lifetime in the sewers. Killer Croc had staked his latest claim in an disused junction, where he appeared to be collecting piles of explosives. It wasn't really Croc's style; Batman did not want whoever had employed Croc this time to get their hands on this deadly stockpile. He slipped soundlessly into the room, stun pellets at the ready. He would have preferred a barrage of batarangs too but his broken arm limited his options. Croc was immersed in something in the far corner – this should be easy.

Bruce deployed the pellets, sweeping forward in the moment of distraction. Croc snarled in outrage at the temporary blinding. He trashed, tail kicking up the putrid water. Bruce used the distraction to circle around, getting his bolas ready. Croc must have sensed his approach, as he snapped at his direction. Batman feinted left, went right and disappeared behind a crumpled support column. He could hear Croc's heavy breathing, sniffing the air.

“Go away, Bat-man.” Croc roared. Bruce inched along behind the column, planning. Croc seemed to be faster and stronger every time they met. He dug in the utility belt for his tranquilizers. Another stun pellet over his shoulder to distract and then Bruce leaped over the fallen masonry, throwing the tranqs with perfect hits. Croc roared at the impacts, head thrown back.

Bruce's landing went badly, the shadows and puddles hiding a depression on the other side of the fallen concrete. He felt his ankle turn just as he landed and compensated by falling into a roll. In the moment he forgot his wounded arm and landed heavily on the cast. Pain shot through his arm, knocking the air out of his lungs. He yelled and went down in an ungainly heap. Croc was on him in moments, slobbering between exposed, jagged teeth.

“Give it up, Waylan!” Batman yelled, but he sounded weak even to his own ears. Croc was trying to bite through his neck but was struggling to get through the reinforced Kevlar. Bruce grabbed more tranqs and drove them into Croc's scaly hide, but they were taking longer than they should have to take effect. Ten seconds after Batman went down a red and blue blur filled his vision.

“Leave him alone!” Clark bellowed, his eyes entirely crimson in the dank room. Croc's weight on Bruce's chest disappeared as Superman picked the monster up by the neck. Croc roared again and swung a heavy fist at Clark's head. He caught it easily in his own hand, then grabbed and yanked with full force. The limb tore free with a wet ripping noise as Croc howled in pain.

Clark abruptly dropped Croc, who landed unsteadily. He looked quickly between the bright blue figure before him and the black shadow sprawled on the ground, then turned and hightailed it into a sewer tunnel. The sounds of his flight quickly vanished. Superman stood watching him go, then crumpled to his knees. His uniform was dripping wth blood. Bruce carefully climbed to his knees and he sat watching Clark for some time, as the latter watched the empty tunnel down which Croc had vanished. After a time Clark seemed to come to his senses.

“I...I...” he waved his hand numbly, then realised he was gesturing with Croc's amputated limb. With a start he tossed the bloody stump into the shadows and visibly shuddered. Bruce slowly got to his feet, held out his good hand to help Clark to his.

“Don't worry,” he rasped, “they grow back.”

\--

The shower was heaven; Bruce let himself get lost in the sensation of hot water pounding down his back. It was a little ritual after a dealing with Gotham's literal underworld, but he had to admit he had other reasons for dragging his shower out. After Alfred came in and looked disapprovingly at him for the second time Bruce gave up, hit the taps and grabbed a towel. Clark was waiting for him in his bedroom. He was sitting on the edge of the bed in his own towel, his blue and red spandex a bloody pile on the bathroom floor. Clark stared out the double window passively, hands folded in his lap. Bruce padded over and sat next to him. Not touching.

“I thought I could do this.” Clark whispered after a time.

Bruce was silent.

“I can't.” his voice broke.

Bruce watched him out of the corner of his eye. For once, in the entire history of their friendship, they were on the same page. It was so funny Bruce wanted to cry. But Bats don't cry.

“I know.” Bruce answered softly. “We can't be here what we were there. It just can't work.”

Clark turned to look at him. “So what do we do?”

Bruce took a deep breath. “I think with time and distance, and training, we can come to an amenable agreement.”

Clark returned his gaze to the widows, still unseeing. The minutes slipped by between them. “Yes, an amenable agreement”.

\---

Batman was right. He usually is. He stayed absent from the League, focusing on the minutiae of crime in Gotham. On the rare occasions he made it to a League meeting he said he enjoyed the change; getting back to his roots as a street-level vigilante. Clark was still in the League, but he'd stepped back a bit and let others take the lead. It was necessary, to rebuild their trust. Clark still felt eyes follow him as he walked the corridors of the Watchtower. Trust was a delicate thing. He patrolled Metropolis and the world, and if he spent too much time listening in on Gotham, well, one would know. He never intervened, as the Bat had commanded him. Even when things got bad and his heart ached, and he had to go sit somewhere dark and weep with the weight of it all. He never went.

Clark had to work hard at the Planet to regain their faith too, after days of missed work with scant reason and weeks before of inattention – and that was on top of his usual flaky behaviour at work and string of unexplained absences. He put in long hours and worked hard on some strong stories.

He was working back late one night, trying to finish off another big story. Lois had already disappeared off on a hot date and/or interview, leaving Clark to work in relative peace. A few Planet staff were wrapping up for the evening, including Jimmy. The boy swung by Clark's desk on his way out.

“Hey Mr. K, some of us are goin' for pizza. That cool little place down on the corner of Market does 'em cheap on Tuesdays.”

Clark paused in his typing to flash a vacant smile. “Thanks Jimmy, but I've got things to do tonight.”

“Oh, okay then. Well, if you change your mind that where we'll be.” The red-head headed towards the elevator doors, joining the lively chatter of the departing group. Clark watched them leave, then spent the next hour or so polishing is piece for printing. When he was done he packed up, turned out the lights for the floor and went home.

He smiled slightly as he stood in the darkness of his apartment. He started stripping as he headed towards the bedroom and was naked by the time he collapsed onto the bed, burrowing under the sheets. This was his favourite part of his day, when he could forget reporting assignments, alien invasions and amicable agreements and give himself over to soft pale skin, wolfish blue eyes and a slow, sultry smile that he knew no one else had ever seen. He closed his eyes, mind filled with warmth and light and love, and gave himself over to the dream.


End file.
